Looking Back
by MusicalBeans
Summary: Sark looks back at past memories just before committing suicide. One shot. Please review.


Looking Back

A Fanfiction by,

MusicalBeans

DISCLAIMMER: Well, I don't own much…just a Clarinet and a plot. Everything else belongs to other people!

SUMMARY: Sark remembers past memories and horrors he caused just before committing suicide.

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Julian Sark walked down the long hallway of his safe home in London. Out of all the homes he had around the world, this one was his favorite. It reminded him of his home from when he was a small child growing up. It somewhat calmed him when he was angry, but he missed the happiness a real home would have. He mostly missed the smell of chocolate chip cookies that his mom would make especially for him on a day like this. When the weather was cold and very rainy. He missed the liveliness that a home always seemed to have. Even though he wasn't a little boy any more, and this wasn't his childhood home, it was still comforting because the structures were somewhat the same.

Lately, he was going through much grief. He escaped from the CIA not long ago, and was still mourning the death of his dear Lauren. The visions of her dead, lifeless body in a small bag the CIA kept her in haunted him every night. The three bullet holes in her chest, and the visions of her dull, lifeless face always flashed across his mind. He always wished that it could have been himself that had gone on the mission and not Lauren. He argued about it with her for hours, who would go on the mission. After a long dispute, he finally caved in and let her go.

It pained him. If he would have gone, he would have died and not her. His mind kept thinking about the situation.

The echoing of his feet on the tile floor stopped when he reached the door to his study, He placed his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it, opening the door, He walked in and stopped at the sight of something.

There it was.

The thing that haunted him the most.

On his desk was a brown, cardboard box. He knew what was in it. Once a year, a box just like it appeared at his house, reminding him of the things he had done in his past.

Sark wanted to know who it was that kept haunting him like this. He wanted to know who kept doing this to him. To Sark, this was torture, and the worst kind of torture possible. It wasn't the kind of torture where someone would bind him down to something and beat him. Or shoot bullets through him, or stabbing him over and over again, trying to cause as much pain possible to him. No, this wasn't physical torture, this was mental torture. A reminder of the things that would never leave his memory. Reminders of his past.

He walked over to the box, and with shaky hands, gently lifted the flaps on it, and opened it up. He had an idea of what was inside of it, and he was right. It was the same thing that appeared every year, for the past five years, to remind him of what he had done.

Inside the box were pictures. Hundreds upon hundreds of pictures. There were pictures of people he had killed, and people he had tortured. The look on their faces was horrifying, their bodies covered in mass amounts of blood, and their faces were not only scared, but panic stricken. There were also pictures of the families these people had to leave behind. Some were school pictures of their children, and others were pictures of their families mourning the lives of people they loved.

There were also letters. He didn't know how they got there, but the letters were all addressed to him. Letters of sadness and letters of hatred. Mainly from children. Asking why he had done this, and asking why he was so mean to as have taken away their mommy or daddy.

As Sark read the letters and stared at the pictures for hours, tears started to fall.

He was ashamed at what he had done. He hated what he did. Hurting others, and killing innocent people. He never anted to do it, but he was afraid for what would happen to him if he didn't. He considered, many times, turning himself into the CIA. He never did because he was afraid of the things _they_ would do to him.

And that's what everything came down to. Fear. He was afraid. Afraid of his job, afraid of other people, afraid of himself, and most of all, he was afraid of the consequences he would have to deal with. He was a cowered, and he wanted out of his life of fear, terror and hatred.

He looked into the box and noticed there was a small note inside, underneath every picture and letter there to remind himself of how horrid a person he was.

He picked it up and started to read.

_I know it must be killing you to know who is doing this to you. You do know who it is, if you don't face up to what you've done, I'll be back, every year and remind you of the pain you've caused me, as well as other people around the world. Does it feel good to know that you've hurt innocent people, scared children to death, and taken their parents away from them? I will get you back one day. One day soon, I promise. No matter where you are, I will be there too. You're a heartless coward. All this pain you caused others, you deserve to feel too. Or you can face up to what you've done, and look me in the eye. Right now, look behind you._

Sark set down the small piece of paper and turned slowly. He half expected someone to be standing there, but knew the truth of what was behind him.

Behind him, hanging on the wall was a full-length mirror. He stared at the reflection of himself for a long time. He knew what he did was wrong, but always wanted to remind himself of what he had done, so every year, he would have someone get all the information on the people he had terrorized, and had it sent to him.

He slowly turned back around and sat down on the leather chair by his desk.

He quietly opened the drawer on his desk, and pulled out the small handgun. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were filled with tears. He thought for a moment, then put the gun up to his temple and pulled the trigger.

And with the blink of an eye, it was all over. All the pain he knew he had caused others, and all the grief and terror that was inside of him left as fast as he had pulled the trigger.

And with that, he was finally at peace.

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A/N: well I know that wasn't too good. Not one of my better stories. I would really appreciate it if you would REVIEW. Also, check out my other Alias stories, their MUCH better.


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